


Leap of Faith

by Minako1x2



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet, Fluff, Get Together, Heavy Petting, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Men In Tights, Minor Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Mutual Pining, Past Bucky Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, dance, heated make-outs, lots and lots of kissing, more to come - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:56:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minako1x2/pseuds/Minako1x2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stucky Ballet AU</p><p>Steve and Bucky are students at a prestigious ballet academy in NYC. It's Bucky's senior year, and the showcase performance is right around the corner--This is his big chance to gain a spot in a great company anywhere in the world. What will he choose? And what will become of Steve as he's left behind to navigate his own senior year? <br/>More importantly, what will they do about the feelings they've been ignoring for so long?</p><p> </p><p>     Steve smiled awkwardly, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders as Natasha snapped a picture of the four of them in the mirror behind the barre. Bucky laughed and winked, and Steve’s heart gave a little flip--just like it always did.<br/>Natasha checked the pic, letting out a little hum as she considered her approval. “You look like a putz, James,” she said, her tone dry to anyone who didn’t know her well enough to hear the tease.<br/>“Impossible,” Bucky said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m so charming it leaks through even to cameras. They love me. I’m very photogenic. It’s almost a curse.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here it is. The Stucky Ballet AU.  
> It took me longer than planned to write it--and ended up longer than I planned as well. On top of that, I've come to accept that this is not a one-shot, but instead Chapter One of a much longer story. I don't know how often I'll be able to update, but I will. ^_^  
> This is just the beginning. So many possibilities--Russia, an accident, a growth spurt, a job as Dance Captain, some romance and much much more!
> 
> For now, I'm just rating this teen--if it heats up, I'll change the rating when needed.

“Get in here, Rogers.”

“Say Cheese!”

Steve smiled awkwardly, Sam’s arm slung around his shoulders as Natasha snapped a picture of the four of them in the mirror behind the barre. Bucky laughed and winked, and Steve’s heart gave a little flip--just like it always did.

Natasha checked the pic, letting out a little hum as she considered her approval. “You look like a putz, James,” she said, her tone dry to anyone who didn’t know her well enough to hear the tease.

“Impossible,” Bucky said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m so charming it leaks through even to cameras. They love me. I’m very photogenic. It’s almost a curse.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha handed her phone off to Sam so he could see the pic. “Photogenic? Charming? It that what you call it?”

“I’m incredibly charming. Steve, tell Nat how charming I am.”

“He thinks he’s very charming,” Steve said, glancing over Sam’s shoulder to see the shot of the four of them. His comment resulted in Bucky and Nat dissolving into some good-natured bickering, but he had long ago learned to block them out. Besides, it was hard to pay attention to much of anything when staring at a picture of Bucky where he looked so--charming. Perfect. Everything about Bucky Barnes was perfect. Always had been. When they were little, in the early days of classes and training, Bucky’s perfection had been what drove Steve to try to be better, to achieve more. Now, it was just what he _wanted._

“Steve. Stevie.” Bucky gave his shoulder a light shove, breaking the spell of thoughts that had taken Steve elsewhere for a moment.

“Yeah? What?”

Bucky laughed. “Stop zonin’ out, man.”

“Sorry.”

Sam handed Natasha’s phone back to her. “Good one. Send it to me, yeah?”

Nat nodded, tapping the screen a few times. “I’ll send it to all of you. The perfect memento of our last class together. Here, that is. Though possibly forever.”

“Way to be a downer, Tasha,” Sam said, stretching out his feet as their instructor entered the room.

“A realist,” Natasha said. “I’m a realist.”

“Fuckin’ downer,” Bucky said.

Natasha stuck out her tongue at him.

“Phone away, hair up, Miss Romanoff,” their instructor called from across the room. “And watch your language, Mr. Barnes.”

“Sorry, Miss Alina,” Bucky said, all smiles. Miss Alina was ordinarily tough as nails, but even she found it difficult to resist that Barnes Charm.

“Save it for someone else,” she said, but one corner of her mouth had quirked up a bit just before she turned away to speak with the pianist, and Steve knew Bucky knew he had won.

It was a comfortable, familiar atmosphere that Steve would sorely miss. Because, while it was the last class of Bucky and Natasha’s senior year, Steve and Sam were only juniors. They were going their separate ways--some to careers, others to more school and training. As Steve took his place at the barre, with Bucky’s steady presence at his back, he tried not to dwell on how nothing would ever be the same again.

#

James Buchanan Barnes was an expert on three things:

Women, ballet, and Steve Rogers.

Which is why he knew something was up as they went through barre, then adagio, petite allegro, grand allegro, and finally reverence with Steve only cracking a smile if Bucky sent one his way first.

Natasha had apparently picked up on it as well, because the look she gave Bucky as she untied her pointe shoes was a clear “ _I assume you’ll deal with this.”_

From anyone else, it would have been a slightly softer _“You got Rogers?”_ kind of expression, but Nat tended to be harsh even when she was being sweet. Bucky gave her the ever appropriate _“I got this”_ nod, which satisfied her as she freed her no doubt aching toes, and headed over to Steve who was finishing his water bottle.

“Hey, Steve-o.”

“Hey, Buck.” Steve capped the now empty bottle and tossed it into his bag.

“Make sure you refill that thing.” They were all headed to separate rehearsals now for the remainder of the day, and Bucky would never be able to concentrate on his showcase piece for tomorrow if he was worrying about Steve.

“Thanks, ma. Never would have thought of that.”

“Don’t sass me, punk. You _have_ actually forgotten before.”

At that Steve’s cheeks turned a bit red. Not the pink flush he got when he was flustered or embarrassed, but the deeper shade that meant he was annoyed because Bucky was right. And so Bucky elected not to ask about Steve’s inhaler--but only because he could see it in the side pouch of his bag. “What time is your rehearsal over?”

“Three o’clock.” Steve brushed his hair back out of his face. “Guess they want us off the stage so you grads can have at it.” This time when he smiled it was bittersweet. Only the right side of his mouth quirked up. “Sam and I were planning on heading out for a bit afterwards, until you and Nat are done.”

“Good plan.” The studio was clearing out, everyone off to their respective rehearsals. Natasha and Sam were just outside, hanging in the hallway, waiting for them. Steve was shoving his extra shirt into his bag. Bucky took the opportunity to count Steve’s breaths without him knowing, study the color of his cheeks . . . He seemed fine. So whatever the problem was, it wasn’t health related.

They were the only ones left in the studio. It was now or never. “Everything okay?”

Shouldering his bag, Steve fixed Bucky with a confused look, and damn if he wasn’t so adorable that way, hair falling in his eyes, forehead crinkled . . . “What do you mean?”

“You seem off today, is all.”

“Oh.” Steve shook his head, then immediately had to brush his hair back again. “I’m fine. You okay? You’re the one with the big performance tomorrow.”

There it was. The way he ducked his head, looked away, shuffled his feet. Classic Steve Rogers avoidance technique.

Truth be told, Bucky was almost tempted to do the same. The performance tomorrow would determine at least the next few years of his life--if not the rest of it. If he did well, he would be offered a spot in a company. And that company could be anywhere in the country--the world. Tomorrow could take him far from New York. Far from home.

Far from Steve.

“Steve, tomorrow won’t--”

“Hey, Bucky!” A bright voice called from the doorway. It was Clara, his partner in the showcase. She waved when he looked over, smiling excitedly. “Don’t dawdle too long, okay?” she said. “I’d like to practice that lift before everything gets started.”

“Sure thing.”

She chirped a thanks and skipped off arm in arm with her friend, Nora.

Steve’s laugh drew Bucky’s attention back to his best friend. “You’re too charming for your own good, ya know.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation today?”

“Careful where you flash that grin of yours, Barnes,” Steve said, heading towards the door. “Sometimes I think the girls’ leotards will fall off of their own accord.”

“Har har. You’re a funny man, Rogers.”

“It’s a gift.” Self-deprecating snark. Which was his real gift. A gift Bucky wished he could snatch away, throw off a cliff and watch it smash against the jagged rocks below. But in ten years of friendship he had yet to be successful.

“Hey, Steve.” Bucky reached for his elbow, but Steve turned casually, preventing him.

“You’d better not be late, Buck.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. It was written all over his stupid, beautiful face. He knew Bucky wanted to get to the root of whatever it was that was bothering him, but he also knew Bucky would never push him in front of the others. So he kept heading towards the door.

Damn him. Stubborn punk.

Sam pushed away from the wall as they reached the door. “Ready to go?”

“All set,” Steve said. He took up his place at Sam’s side, already heading to the right. “We’ll see you later. I’d wish you luck, but I know you’ll both be great.” This directed at both Bucky and Natasha.

“Fill your water bottle,” Bucky called after him as he and Sam went on their way. Steve stiffened for a moment (almost certainly irritated by the reminder, and more so because Bucky was positive he had already forgotten), then proceeded to pull the empty bottle from his bag before continuing on.

Natasha bumped her shoulder against Bucky’s. “So?”

“So what?”

“Did you talk to him?”

“As much as anyone can talk to the stubborn punk when he doesn’t want to talk. I don’t know what his problem is today.”

“Seriously?”

“What?”

Nat sighed, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder. “You’re dumber than a bag of bricks sometimes, I swear.”

“Where the hell is this coming from? Do _you_ know what’s wrong with him?”

“Yes.”

Bucky threw up his arms. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I just might. I thought you could figure it out for yourself, but apparently not. Too stupid.” She headed towards the large rehearsal studios, most of their classmates already out of sight.

Bucky followed. “Really not cute, Nat.”

“Cute’s not really my thing anyway.”

“You got a point?”

“Sure. Why did we break up last year?”

“You broke up with me.”

“You eventually agreed with me. Why?”

“Um . . . because you clearly didn’t want to be my girlfriend anymore. What does this have to do with Steve?”

“Wrong.”

“Jesus, Nat.” He moved to the side when a group of underclassman girls filed through. “Why don’t you just tell me my own mind then, huh? Since you clearly know better than I do.”

There were certain times when it became obvious that if Nat ever failed as a dancer she could have a shining career as an international spy. Now was one of those times. She fixed Bucky with a gaze that rivaled a cold Russian winter, and he felt it all the way down to his toes.

“You’re in love with Steve.”

The ice from her stare was suddenly coupled with an entirely different brand of cold. She knew. She’d seen. His best kept secret, his longest kept secret, found out. She knew. Had he been so transparent? No. Not possible. He dated girls, all the time. Had a steady girlfriend fairly often to keep up appearances. It wasn’t all a façade. He liked girls, he did. He and Nat had been great together, but--

“And he’s in love with you.”

Bucky’s thoughts derailed completely.

“What? No. Steve doesn’t--Steve’s not--he isn’t in love with me.”

“Stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” She started walking again, shaking her head. “Honestly, James, I gave you far too much credit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just think about it for a few minutes. He hasn’t dated anyone--”

“Lots of people don’t date. That doesn’t mean--”

“He’s _always_ with you. Always defends you, drops everything for you. Looks at you like the sun shines out of your ass.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“When he’s not dancing he’s drawing, and do you know what he fills that sketchbook of his with?”

“Steve is really private about his--”

“You.” Natasha stopped just outside the door that would lead to the studios, thumping her finger against his chest. “And he’s upset today because whatever happens tomorrow it’s going to take you away from him and he’s terrified. And so are you. You just hide it better.”

“Not well enough apparently . . .”

“I’m different. I know you better than most people.”

“He’s never done anything--I mean, why wouldn’t he say anything?”

A string of Russian curses was his answer. “James,” Natasha said, once finished admonishing him in a language he didn’t speak, “make a move. Take a leap of faith. Time’s short.” She grabbed the door handle and pulled. “More so because we’ll be late if we stay out here any longer. Come on.”

Bucky followed, but in a daze. He didn’t know how he was supposed to get through rehearsal now that all he could think about was Steve and the possibility that Natasha might be right. Clara cuffed him across the shoulder a few times for not paying attention, and more than once he missed her hand when the choreography called for a connection. During one of their short breaks Natasha smacked him upside the head, telling him to focus, which was entirely unfair as his lack of focus was her fault.

By the end of the day their instructors were giving him funny looks--it wasn’t like him to be so off his game--and Clara was threatening to ask for a new partner (not actually a possibility). But by the time they were rehearsing with the orchestra Bucky had settled, both in mind and body. He danced alongside Clara and the others with the grace and ease they expected of him and Clara had once again been won over by his smile and skill, declaring her luck at having the best partner in the school. Everyone was clapping him on the back, assuring him that tomorrow would be wonderful.

Bucky was only thinking about tonight.

He had a plan.

#

Bucky’s text was simple: **Meet me on stage. 7:00.**

Steve didn’t think twice, just typed the equally simple **okay** and hit send.

It was in the in between hours that his mind began to race, coming up with a thousand different scenarios for why Bucky could possibly want to meet him on the stage.

To show him something? Once, three years ago, Bucky had found one of the older girl’s spare pair of pointe shoes and--being that Steve was smaller than he was--insisted that Steve try them on.

The result had been unexpected.

“Ow! Holy shit!” Steve had exclaimed, holding onto Bucky’s forearms for dear life as he struggled to maintain his balance on the very tips of his toes. “How do they do this all day?”

Bucky had laughed, mostly at the fact that Steve--only thirteen at the time--had swore. And Steve never swore. At least, he hadn’t at that point.

After a few minutes Steve had gotten the hang of it, and the pain started to ebb from a burning to a reasonable numbness. “S’not so bad,” Steve finally decided, balancing on his own, but not daring anything more.

After that, Bucky made it his mission to find a pair his could fit his own feet into.

When he did, he cursed far more than Steve had.

But there couldn’t be much of anything on the stage that they hadn’t discovered together by now. So maybe Bucky just wanted Steve to meet him there because that’s where he would be when finally released from rehearsal.

Or maybe he wanted to tell him something and at that point the stage would be empty and private and they could . . .

Yeah right.

And then he was thinking of three years ago again, and how that had been the first time he had been so very aware of how Bucky’s arms felt under his hands--strong, hard, steady. Hot and trembling slightly with excitement. Or had that been Steve? Sometimes it was hard to know the difference, to know where he left off and Bucky began.

Other times it was painfully clear.

He didn’t want to think about the days to come, when he would look up and Bucky wouldn’t be beside him, when he would no longer trust that they presence at his back at barre was Bucky Barnes.

The rest of the advanced students who weren’t graduating had made plans to get pizza after rehearsal, and so Steve and Sam went along. Steve forgot his ridiculous worry over meeting Bucky later, and managed to laugh and carry on with his other classmates. Until the girls (and some of the boys) started lamenting the impending loss of one James Barnes, then the world went a bit fuzzy.

Maggie would miss the way Bucky always held her steady during lifts, and the sweet smile she’d receive at the end of a variation.

Simone would miss the flirting. The fun exchange that came so easily with the promise of everything and the threat of nothing.

Caroline would miss the way he kissed. Soft at first, then more and more heated as permission was given.

Liam would miss the view, which he said with a wistful sigh.

The girl’s threw pizza crust at him. After all, they pointed out, they only had so many options. The ratio of straight (or even bi) boys to straight girls in the dance world was highly unbalanced.

Steve kept his thoughts to himself. He’d lamented the fact that Bucky only seemed interested in girls for years himself.

Six-thirty rolled around and Steve excused himself from the festivities, taking with him promises to pass along messages of luck and love to Bucky.

The stage was mostly dark when he arrived, lit by the work lights only, though as he moved through the wings he could feel the lingering heat of the stage lights. Bucky stood at the center, dressed in nothing by his black dance pants, chest slightly glistening with sweat as he marked through the hardest sequence of choreography. Steve had seen him do it before, he knew the concentration it took to execute.

Of course it would have been easier if Bucky’d had his partner with him, but Steve didn’t say anything, didn’t interrupt. Watching Bucky dance, seeing the muscles ripple along his back with each step, each turn, did funny things to Steve’s stomach.

Even beyond the physical view, watching Bucky dance had always been a rather ethereal experience. He moved with grace and controlled power, strength that guaranteed precision, and a surety that captivated audiences. For as long as he could remember Steve had been able to lose himself in watching Bucky dance. It had to be the single most beautiful thing that existed on this earth.  

Bucky completed the grand jeté en tournant, landing just shy of Steve’s watching place, and stopped dead, his balance slightly off. There was a funny twitch to his mouth, and a fidgety tick to his hands that no one often saw. Steve saw it from time to time, but so rarely. Confidence usually oozed from Bucky’s pores; if he was slipping, something was up.

But just like that it was gone, hidden, cast aside, and the cocky smile and riveting charm were back. Everything was normal again. “Steve! Just in time. Get over here and help me figure this out.” He side stepped, his feet mapping out the first sequence of the pas de deux. With a grin, he executed a flawless triple tour, landed gracefully on one knee, and swept his hand out to Steve in invitation.

“Really, Buck?”

“Big audition tomorrow. Gotta practice.”

“You had rehearsal all day.”

“Don’t feel solid yet.”

“Why didn’t you call Natasha for this?” Steve kept to the wings. He knew that gleam in the eye--Bucky was up to something.

“She’s out with Clint.”

“The archery kid?” They’d met him two weeks back while out at a club. They were underage, but somehow they all got in. Steve didn’t want to know what had been done to get his 12-year-old-looking self in past the bouncers. Steve had clung to the wall awkwardly while Bucky and Nat entertained the entire crowd with their heated and passionate dance. That is, until Nat had caught sight of Clint, and deserted her first partner. Bucky spent the rest of the evening trying to get Steve to loosen up enough to dance to the heavy bass beat. Ballet was easier.

“The archery kid. Come on, Steve, hurry up. My knee is starting to ache here.”

“Buck--”

“You take my hand, I stand and pivot here . . .” Bucky went through the motions, then crooked his fingers to beckon Steve forward.

“I’m not a girl, Buck.”

“Didn’t say you were. Come on.”

Steve sighed, already feeling his resolve crumbling. He’d never been very good at resisting Bucky Barnes, not since that first day, when that grinning, front-tooth-missing boy had suggested they try to sneak up on the ducks in Central Park. His hand had been extended then too, just like it was now.

They’d both ended up bit.

Who knew ducks had teeth?

“I don’t know the part.” A last ditch effort.

“Sure ya do. Saw you helping Sharon just the other day. You know it.”

“The guys’ part.” Damn, damn, damn. This wasn’t gonna work. Bucky knew. Steve could see it in his eyes. He knew Steve’s memory--the talent he had for picking up, for learning things he hadn’t done himself but had only seen . . .

“Both parts.”

Steve sighed. “I’m in my jeans.” He’d changed before going out, and his dance bag was back in the dorm.

“It’ll be fine. Be a pal, Stevie. My whole future could be riding on this.”

The truth of the statement, of tomorrow, hit hard, but Steve left the safety of the wings, placing his hand in Bucky’s. “You’re a real jerk sometimes, ya know that?”

“Takes one to know one, punk. Okay, now, stand right there.”

His hand was warm as he pulled Steve around, placing him where he wanted him: center stage, facing the empty seats of the audience.

Empty, but Steve suddenly felt like every last one was staring at him. At _them_. Bucky had a hand at his waist, and Steve couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like against his bare skin, rather than his T-shirt.

 _Get your head on straight, Rogers. Ain’t like Bucky’s never touched you before. Hell, you’ve shared a bed_ (best and worst night’s sleep Steve’s ever gotten). _Today is no different._

Except it was.

Because it was the last day.

Everything was going to change.

Without realizing it he was moving through the choreography. Bucky had been right--he did know both parts. Choreography came easily to him, always had. It was the prolonged exertion, the lifts, that caused him problems.

Chassé, and glissade, and tombé pas de bourrée. Piqué fuette, and hold, a balance through fié, and it just kept flowing. They passed one another, then met again, crossed center, then pulled back. The turn section was fast approaching, and Steve felt his brain kick back in when he and Bucky were finally together once again--centered, Bucky’s arms outstretched, ready for the next step, which Steve had not moved into.

“Steve, what’s wrong? This is the part I really need help with. I keep jumbling my feet and Clara threatened to break my leg if I do it tomorrow.”

“Then she should be here doing this. I don’t see how practicing with me is gonna do you any good. I can’t do the turns and lifts at this part.”

“Sure ya can.”

“Well, I’m not gonna.” Steve snapped, harsher than he had intended. Yes, he was small, light enough that Bucky could probably lift him no trouble at all--but he didn’t need the reminder. Not when just that day he had once again had to endure the glowering expression of Tara, who had the misfortune of being coupled with him in partnering class.

He could never complete any of the lifts. He sure as hell wouldn’t complete them from the other side.

His tone sobered Bucky, who dropped his arms and all pretences of not understanding. “All right, no lifts. Can we do the end though? The sequence always trips me up, and I had to stop today, couldn’t take Clara’s harping any longer. You always know the best way to break it down. Just help me with that. Please?”

Steve did. Of course he did. Even though his heart was pounding, and his palms were sweaty, and his chest felt tight--not asthma tight, thank god; though on second thought, at least he had an inhaler to deal with that. He stood side by side with Bucky, broke down each movement, clarified where his weight should be through each transition, each moment of balance. Bucky was a good student, took direction well, but Steve couldn’t help but wonder--

He’s seen Bucky perform this only two days before, he’d been pretty damn good. Graceful, on point, always right where he needed to be.

Nerves then?

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Bucky nervous about a performance.

The final sequence of the choreography was an assisted pirouette, followed by a promenade, a lift, all culminating in a very dramatic dip.

He didn’t see Bucky move until it was too late. He had been explaining the benefits of keeping your weight in the toe of your back foot when suddenly his balance was up-ended, turned around, and he found himself in Bucky’s arms, halfway to the floor, hands scrambling to hold onto those strong biceps while Bucky grinned down at him.

“Hey there, Stevie.”

“H-hey, Buck,” Steve stammered, too shocked to protest. “This, ah, this isn’t part of the choreography.”

“I know. I think, you and me, we don’t venture outside the lines enough.”

Holy shit. Did Bucky’s gaze just drop to Steve’s mouth? No. No. He imagined it. Just like he’s imagining the rise and fall of Bucky’s chest--so close to him--being faster than usual.

Steve wiggled, trying to get free. He couldn’t be this close, not with his thoughts the way they were . . .

But Bucky didn’t let him go. “Steve.”

Steve couldn’t get his feet under himself without pressing his hips against his best friend’s, and that was out of the question. He was stuck. “Let me up.” There was something between them, something crackling, a heat that didn’t usually fill the air.

God, what was this? He wasn’t sure he could take it.

“I wanna ask you something, Steve.” Bucky’s voice was half a whisper, as if he could feel it too.

Oh god, could he feel it too?

“Okay.” It seemed like too many words would shatter this mystery presence. “Can I stand?”

“Promise not to run?”

Run? “Promise.” He’d promise Bucky anything, even if he didn’t understand why.

Bucky was gentle as he set Steve back on his feet, and it was impossible to miss the hesitation before he took his hands away from Steve’s waist.

Steve almost grabbed his hands and put them back. Almost.

And then Bucky spoke. “What do you want, Steve?”

“What?”

“What do you--No. That’s probably not the best way to say it. Damn.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Had this all planned out. Now I’m stumblin’ all over myself. Heh. I’m turning into you.”

Steve punched him in the arm.

Bucky laughed. “Yeah. I deserved that.”

“Just say whatever it is you want to say.”

“Can’t seem to say it right. Heh . . . Maybe I’ll . . .” He stopped, looked at Steve, visibly thinking for a moment, then smiled. “Leap of faith, huh?”

“What?”

The word was barely out of his mouth before Bucky’s lips were on his.

Steve’s mind went blank, his body froze, he forgot to breathe, how to think--the only thing that existed was the heat of Bucky’s mouth, the soft press of lips--his hand on Steve’s hip.

Thought returned in a flurry, Steve’s heart stuttered in his chest before racing towards a finish line he couldn’t see. Bucky was kissing him. Kissing him. _Kissing. Him_. He tasted like peppermint and cigarettes and sweat--and _god_ Steve had never wanted more of anything ever before in his life.

He parted his lips, not sure if he was about to say something, do something, or just remembering that he needed to breathe-- It didn’t matter. All things left him once again when he then felt Bucky’s tongue dart out into that new space, and Steve’s tongue instinctively moved to meet it.

The stage door creaked open, deafening in the silence, and startling both boys into breaking away from one another. Steve was shocked at how instantly cold he felt without Bucky’s body pressed against his.

Voices followed the sound of the door--male and female, vaguely discussing business-type things. Steve panicked, even though it wasn’t against the rules for them to be on stage, and it certainly wasn’t against the rules for them to be kissing, but--

God. They had been _kissing._

Steve was fairly sure his brain wasn’t working.

Bucky grabbed him by the hand and pulled him off stage-right, folding their bodies into the curtains of the wings just before the footsteps from stage-left accompanying the voices hit the stage. Their bodies once again pressed together, Steve focused on clearing his head and remembering to breathe. He set a shaking hand against Bucky’s bare chest, feeling the steady heartbeat below all that muscle and set to work making his own pulse match.

Bucky looked down at him, silent worry all over his face. Steve could read him like an open book, wondering if Steve’s shock was born happy surprise, or disgust. Bucky’s hands had wandered back to Steve’s hips, but his fingers twitched, as if he was about to let go--

Which was the very last thing Steve wanted.

So he grabbed his best friend by the back of the neck, pulled him down, and kissed him.

He didn’t have a lot of practice, but he figured as long as their lips were pressed together Bucky would get the idea.

They kissed softly for a while, Bucky guiding him gently, a hand on his cheek there, the turn of his chin, and most remarkably, the tentative touch of his tongue once again. Steve opened his mouth, letting Bucky in, and his knees nearly buckled at the sensations that ran down his spine, into his stomach . . . and lower.

The voices faded, the stage door once again opening and closing, leaving them alone, and in silence.

Bucky broke their kiss, but only moved so far as to rest his forehead against Steve’s. They were both out of breath, despite the slow pace of their explorations.

Steve swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said, surprised his voice worked at all. “So . . . that’s what you wanted to tell me?”

A laugh, low and warm and only half completed rose from Bucky’s throat. “Yeah. That about sums it up.”

“Ah.” Steve didn’t dare move, even just to do something as mundane as nod. “Well, good to know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The uncertainty in Bucky’s voice made him smile a little. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Didn’t know it was an option.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to laugh. “Idiot.”

“Oh, like you knew.” Bucky gave Steve’s side a little squeeze, then pulled him closer when Steve instinctively tried to move away.

“Nah,” Steve conceded, happily folding himself back into Bucky’s arms. “I didn’t know either.”

“Stupid.”

“You must be rubbin’ off on me.”

“Careful, Rogers, I can still change my mind.”

“No, you can’t,” Steve said, knowing there was no real threat behind his friend’s words.

Bucky gave a little tilt of his head. “Yeah, you’re right.” He kissed Steve again, and it was easier this time, having a basic idea of what the other liked, seeking out soft sighs and tiny moans.

“So,” Bucky said when they were forced to break for air, “we’re doing this?”

If he was dreaming, Steve did not want to wake up. “We’re doing this.”

“Good. What next?” He grinned that grin that had always done funny things to Steve, and Steve let himself imagine for a moment all the possibilities.

They were endless.

He started with another kiss.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's kinda hard to concentrate when your boyfriend is wearing nothing but tights . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, look! Chapter Two!
> 
> Things get a wee bit steamier here . . . nothing major, but enough. ^_~

They hadn’t told anyone. Not yet. It was still so new, literally only hours had passed, and so they’d barely even gotten to discuss anything themselves. It seemed silly to go running to each of their friends, banging on their dorm room doors, announcing to any and all who could hear that Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes were together. An item. A thing. Boyfriends? Steve didn’t know what term best described them now. Best friends who recently realized they both wanted more? That seemed closer to the truth. 

Either way, it made sitting between his mother and Bucky’s sister a little awkward as they waited for the showcase to begin. 

The theater was packed, sold-out. New York loved to come out for the annual showcase. It was a chance not just to glimpse the up and coming talent, tomorrow’s principle dancers and soloists, but also to see brand new choreography, unique pieces of work, and modern ballets that could someday grow into entire shows. Steve remembered the first showcase he had ever seen, the summer before he and Bucky had joined the academy. Steve’s mother, Sarah, had taken both boys, hoping it would help them make their decision. All it had taken was one variation and Steve had been sold--knew this was where he was meant to be. Bucky had told him later that it had been the ballerina performing the Arabian number from the Nutcracker Suite that had convinced him. Something about her flexibility and the way she had wrapped her legs around her partner’s neck. Steve hadn’t been fooled. He had seen Bucky scoot up to the edge of his seat the moment the romantic night-themed ballet had begun. 

Sarah squeezed Steve’s hand where it lay along the armrest. Her smile always seemed brighter when in this theater, under the painted ceiling, carved banisters, and filigreed walls. She watched the people bustle in, ushers leading them to their seats, passing out programs. “I’ve been dreaming of this day for so long,” Sarah said. “Ever since you boys took your first class. I always knew you were something special. Both of you. And now James is here, and next year I’ll sit here and watch you dance.” She stopped, beginning to tear up, and Steve squeezed her hand as she had his. 

“Come on, Ma. Don’t cry.”

“Yeah, don’t cry, Mrs. Rogers,” said Rebecca, Bucky’s eleven year old sister whose talent lay in playing the piano. They’d discovered early on that she had two left feet, and would not be following in her brother’s footsteps. “We don’t even know yet if he’ll get a job, or even if we’ll get lucky and we’ll have to ship him halfway across the world!”

“Rebecca!” admonished her foster mother, Mrs. Proctor, sitting on Becca’s other side. 

“What?”

Mrs. Proctor sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This sassy phase of yours can end anytime now, young lady. This is a big night for your brother. Be nice.”

“I’m his little sister. I’m not supposed to be nice.”

“I think that only applies for when he’s in the room,” Steve said, giving her shoulder a little shove with his own. “You know, for his benefit. What’s the point if he’s not here?”

“You’re here.” Rebecca shrugged. “Same thing.”

And though normally that wouldn’t have affected Steve in any way--for years they had often felt like one entity, a package deal: SteveandBucky--after last night . . . it carried a different connotation, and Steve felt his cheeks grow warm. 

Blessedly, the theater lights went down in the next moment, hiding the blush that he never would have hidden otherwise. Sarah gave his hand another pat before settling in beside him as the orchestra began to play. 

There were five ballet pieces to be performed before Bucky’s. Five numbers, all somewhere between eight and fifteen minutes long. It was a long time to be sitting in the dark, distracted by thoughts of the night before. He should have been paying attention to what was happening on stage--those were his friends, his classmates, and most were incredibly talented and normally Steve loved watching any performance, but--

The first ballet began, slow and romantic. The lead girl floating across the stage while the core moved like a breeze behind her. The music was almost like a lullaby at first, before it suddenly shifted, the boys joining the girls on stage as the drums and brass section overwhelmed the strings, startling the girls and beginning the playful chase that was the theme of the dance. Steve felt himself smile a little as the whole theater jumped at the unexpected change, reminded of a similar moment only a few hours before . . . 

_The alarm went off promptly at six-thirty am. Steve’s alarm always went off at six-thirty. It gave him just enough time to have a bit of day--read, eat breakfast, shower, check the news--before reporting to class promptly at nine. So when the familiar buzzing broke the silence of the room it was no surprise._

_Bucky Barnes suddenly jolting and flailing against his back was._

_“Gah! What the fuck?”_

_Steve chuckled, rolling over onto his back so he could see his friend--eyes wide but bleary, hair sticking up at all angles, sheet marks pressed into his cheeks--half sitting up, braced on one arm, looking like all the world had shattered and he had no idea where he was. With one hand, and with practiced ease, Steve turned off the alarm. “It’s morning, Buck. That’s all.”_

_“What?” Bucky squinted, looking over at the bedside table where the clock sat, then scowled at it. “Does that say six-thirty?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Jesus.” Bucky flopped back to the bed, burying his face in the pillow and throwing his arms over his head. “That’s not morning, Steve.”_

_“This is when I always get up.”_

_“Masochist.”_

_“The sun is up.”_

_“The sun is a sadist.”_

_Steve laughed lightly again and rolled onto his side, watching with amusement as Bucky tried to merge himself with the pillows. Which was when reality hit him._

_It wasn’t that he had never woken up beside Bucky before. On the contrary, sleepovers with couch cushions on the floor, or squeezing into one bed when they had still be quite young (and admittedly, they had often ended up sharing a bed even once old enough that some eyebrows may have raised at it) had always been the norm. But that red mark on Bucky’s shoulder--that was new. As was the scratch along the back of his shoulder. Steve found himself gently touching his own collarbone, where the skin was tender and sensitive, most likely marked in a similar manner._

_Waking up with Bucky, with the memories of what they had done last night, that was definitely new. And suddenly all Steve could remember was the taste of Bucky’s lips, the touch of his fingers playing out erratic rhythms along his spine, the press of his hips into Steve’s own . . ._

_“Steve?”_

_“Hm?” Steve blinked, leaving the memories behind, shaking his head a little to clear it. Bucky had turned his head along the pillow and was staring up at him from beneath his arms._

_“You’re blushing.”_

_“No, I’m not.” A hand flew to his cheek, just in case. His whole body felt hot._

_“Sure ya are.” Bucky chuckled, throwing an arm around Steve’s waist and pulling him close. “What’re you thinkin’ about?” His words were still slurred by sleep, lips now pressed against Steve’s temple._

_“Last night.” There wasn’t much point in lying. He let his fingers play lightly against Bucky’s shoulder._

_“Mm. Good idea,” Bucky said, nuzzling Steve’s hair with his nose. “I think there should be an encore.”_

_“Oh yeah?” Just the thought was enough to set the butterflies free in Steve’s stomach once more._

_“Mm hm.” Bucky rolled onto his side, pulling Steve around until he was tucked securely under his chin. “Gonna hear all those sweet little sounds you made again. Gonna make you forget everything but my name.”_

_Good god. Steve’s heart was hammering away in his chest. Just the thought was enough to make him lightheaded . . ._

_“But in an hour,” Bucky said, his words thick with sleep. “s’too damn early.”_

Steve laughed lightly to himself, just as he had that morning. Bucky Barnes was not a morning person. It made him wonder, if maybe, just maybe . . . he could find something that would persuade him otherwise. Surely there was _something_ he could do that would be worth waking up for.

Not that they hadn’t, eventually. But given what day it was, Steve had felt it best to let Bucky sleep. 

The lights changed with the performance on stage. This one a more modern number, choreographed by one of their instructors who hoped to stage an entire ballet one day. The music was a little discordant for Steve’s tastes, but he appreciated the sentiment behind the dance. It was the tale of someone battling addiction, and his classmates performed it beautifully. 

The third was excerpts from Don Quixote, the fourth from the ballet Jewels. The fifth was another original, lyrical and beautifully sad. Steve heard even the tough Rebecca Barnes sniffling beside him.  
The fifth performance ended, and with that the stage went dark--Steve knew they were changing sets, setting places. He imagined Bucky backstage, doing final warm-ups and shaking off his nerves. This was the first time they hadn’t been backstage together, and Steve knew all too well how Bucky’s nerves got to him right before the lights went up. He wished he could text him, send him a few words of encouragement, anything to make it seem like there wasn’t an ocean of people between them, but he knew Bucky wouldn’t have his phone with him. There had been a lecture the day before reminding them of the importance of focus, and not giving into distractions. 

He grabbed his phone and sent Bucky a text anyway. Just in case.

**You’ll be great.**

Not two seconds later his phone buzzed in his hand, silently alerting him to Bucky’s response.

**I think I might puke. So weird not having you back here.**

Steve bit his lip to keep from smiling or laughing or anything that would give him away--not that his phone wasn’t a beacon of light in the dark audience. **You’ve got this. But you’re not supposed to be on your phone. Don’t you have to go on stage soon?**

Sarah leaned over, bumping her shoulder against her son’s. “Steven, I can’t believe you would--oh. Is that Bucky?” Her smile was clear in the pale light. 

Steve just nodded, reading Bucky’s next response. 

**They just called places.**

**Then get to your place!**

Rebecca had caught him texting now, and leaned in. “Oo, tell him I say good luck.”

“You don’t say ‘good luck’ to dancers, Becca,” Steve admonished, tilting his phone as casually as possible so the screen couldn’t be read, and hoping Bucky had sense enough to remember that he was sitting with their families and wouldn’t text anything compromising . . . 

Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Fine. Tell him whatever that stupid word is then.”

“Merde.”

“Yeah, that.”

**I’m freaking out, Steve.**

**No, you’re not. Take a deep breath. Becca says merde and Ma is smiling so hard I think she might pull something. You’re gonna be the best one out there. Can’t wait to see you after. :)**

**Becks did not say merde, but thanks for translating. Okay. Shit. Gotta go. Of course I’ll be the best, but I won’t tell Nat you said so. Can’t wait to see you either.**

Steve didn’t respond, mostly so as to not distract Bucky further, but also because he was sure Bucky had to have put his phone down and away. The lights were shifting again, and the orchestra had begun. He tucked his phone safely away in his pocket once more, and breathed when he realized he was holding his breath. 

Sarah held his hand, sharing his anticipation.

It didn’t take long for Steve to forget how to breathe again. The lights went up, illuminating the girls in their silver tutus and glittering bodices. They did a quick variation before Clara and Nat entered the stage, performing a playful dance that told the story of a friendship that was nothing but fictional. Nat and Clara couldn’t stand one another. Clara was too bubbly for Natasha’s liking, and Clara couldn’t understand Nat’s dry and often dark humor. But they were professionals through and through, and no one in the audience was the wiser. 

And then Bucky entered, and the applause from the audience was instant and roaring. Bucky had a lot of fans. Steve clapped as loudly as he could right along with them. 

Sure enough, all signs of nerves were gone. Bucky practically dripped charisma as he made his way across the stage, chasing the girls and catching them easily in fluid lifts that left them teasing and playing and hoping for more. 

Steve knew all too well what that felt like. 

_They’d gone to Steve’s room because Sam had gone home for the night, while Bucky’s roommate hardly ever left the dorms. They hadn’t been able to room together because of the difference in their years, but Steve wondered now if this wouldn’t have been so long coming if they’d gone to bed beside one another each and every night._

_The wondering didn’t last long, as Bucky had closed and locked the door, only to advance on Steve once more, as if the walk from the stage to his room had been a voyage of a hundred days and he couldn’t possibly be without any longer. His kisses had been teasing and eager, tongue delving into Steve’s mouth before trailing instead along his jaw and down his neck. Steve’s hands had fumbled with the hem of Bucky’s shirt, getting his fingertips on the skin of his stomach, feeling the flutter there as their hips instinctively pressed together._

The story of the ballet was something not usually told--two lifelong friends (Nat and Clara) who suddenly had to deal with the reality of one falling in love and giving her time to someone else. Bucky and Clara found themselves dancing amongst all the others, though totally engrossed in one another. Natasha danced around the edges--always looking in. 

Bucky and Clara spun and leaped in perfect unison. She executed an assisted pirouette, followed by a deep and flowing ponché Another combination took them across to stage left, and Bucky lifted Clara high above his head, his hands firm and steady at her waist. 

_Hands at Steve’s waist, undoing his jeans, pushing them down and out of the way. Their grip strong, unyielding, pulling Steve closer and closer, even as he moved backwards, towards the bed._

Bucky’s legs looked amazing in his black tights. Steve had always thought so, but there was a distinct difference now. Each leap, each chassé, emphasized the muscles that Steve now had recent memories of feeling under his hands, pressed against his thighs . . . 

_Steve’s legs had hit the edge of his bed and he tumbled backwards, Bucky tumbling along with him, his body a welcomed weight against Steve’s. He felt pinned between the soft mattress and the wide, hard expanse of Bucky’s chest--and he loved it. One of Bucky’s hands ran its way down Steve’s stomach, over his thigh, and finally between his legs. Steve had moaned loudly at the sensation, and immediately clamped his mouth down on Bucky’s shoulder, afraid to make too much noise . . ._

That mark had been carefully covered with makeup when they had finally gotten out of bed that morning. Also his shirt had been selected based on the ability of the neckline to hide the red spot Steve had left behind. Most people probably wouldn’t have thought much of it--but they had to get past Natasha. At least until they were ready to say something. 

Now, Steve couldn’t help but stare at that spot on Bucky’s bare chest, wondering if the makeup was holding against the sweat that inevitably came beneath the hot stage lights. He couldn’t see it from the audience, and hadn’t expected to, but just the knowledge that it was there--that HE had put it there--his pulse was racing again. 

_His heart had hammered away as Bucky’s hand slipped into his pants, palming Steve’s erection which made him throw his head back against the pillows as his jaw dropped with a silent gasp.  
And then Bucky had guided Steve’s hand to touch him the same way._

Steve had to shift in his seat, mentally berating himself to get his thoughts under control. Now was not the time. 

Bucky stepped aside as the two girls danced together for a moment. Nat and Clara’s characters renewed the strength of their own bond, and found balance in the changes of life. Bucky joined them again, this time dancing with Clara as Natasha looked on happily, joining in on occasion. And as the music built and built, so too did the choreography, leading Bucky and Clara through a swirling dance of excitement and new love. Steve’s muscles twitched with the memory of going through those very same steps with Bucky just the night before, on that very stage. Coaching him through the sequence until it had ended in the single most life-altering event he’d had to date. 

He caught himself touching his lips, remembering the feel of Bucky’s mouth against his own as the ballet came to an end, and the audience erupted in applause. Steve stood along with all the rest, clapping until his hands hurt. Bucky took center stage with the two girls, letting them each curtsy before taking a bow himself, then once again stepping back and giving the light to the girls. He smiled, and Steve felt his knees go weak. 

There would be one more dance before intermission, but Steve excused himself as the lights went down once more, and the stage cleared. 

He needed a moment. 

Dashing to the bathroom, he pulled his phone from his pocket as he walked. **You were amazing.** He sent the text, then turned on the sink, splashing his face with cold water to chase away the thoughts he’d been unable to resist. He still had at least another hour to get through. It wouldn’t do to be sitting beside his mother incapable of thinking about anything other than Bucky and everything he knew those hands and legs and mouth were capable of. 

And all the things he still hoped to discover. They’d been so eager the night before that they’d barely gotten their pants off all the way. And this morning . . . well, this morning Steve had discovered that Bucky’s mouth was good for more than just charming speeches. 

He splashed some more cold water on his face. 

The bathroom door opened, and Steve grabbed a paper towel, drying off so he could return to his seat. 

“Knew I’d find you if I tried.”

Steve stilled, towel still over his face but knowing that voice anywhere. He dropped it and turned. “Bucky.”

He was still in his tights, still shirtless, and gleaming from the layer of sweat brought on by his performance. His hair had been slicked back, but Bucky ran a hand through it now, and a lock came free, falling over his forehead. Steve wanted to reach out and brush it back, thread his fingers through all that dark hair. 

“You were so fantastic, Buck. Incredible.”

“Do you know how hard it was not to think about you the entire time?”

“What?”

Bucky moved towards him, his steps still just as lithe as they had been on stage. “The whole time, couldn’t stop thinking about last night, and this morning. Just wanted to get through the dance so I could see you.”

“That was you unfocused? Imagine what you could have accomplished otherwise.”

“Was worth it, I’d bet.”

He was right in front of Steve now, so close that Steve had nowhere to go, the edge of the sink pressing into his lower back. “To tell the truth, I had the same problem. Every move you made just made me think--well, yeah. That’s why I’m in here.” He couldn’t resist. He reached up, touching that reddish-purple mark that was no longer hidden by make-up, wanting to kiss it. 

“You telling me I get you all worked up, Rogers?”

“I’d think that was obvious given recent events.”

“Still nice to hear.” Hands resting on Steve’s hips, Bucky leaned down and brushed his lips against Steve’s mouth. “Anything else you want to tell me before I kiss you?”

“I’d rather you just kissed me.”

Bucky complied, his mouth hot and welcoming against Steve’s. His tongue slipped past Steve’s lips, and he tasted like salt and hard work. Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, pulling him closer, not caring when the sink began to press against his back so hard that it occurred to him that it might bruise. 

“HA!” The door had opened again, and Steve and Bucky broke away from one another, startled. Natasha stood in the door way, hands on her hips, still in her tutu, a knowing and sly smirk across her face. “I knew it. Sam owes me twenty bucks.”

Bucky threw Steve’s discarded paper towel at her. “You made a bet? And get out of here, this is the men’s room.”

“I go where I please,” Nat said, unabashed as always. “Besides, I never miss an opportunity to see Steve blush.”

His cheeks were hot enough that he knew there was no point in hiding or denying it, but Steve still glared at her. 

“Get out, Nat,” Bucky said. 

“Fine, fine. But people are looking for you, so don’t get too caught up. You’re supposed to be presentable in an hour to hear the results.”

“I’m coming.”

“If I hadn’t interrupted, maybe.” Nat grinned.

Bucky grabbed the door and forcefully shut it in her face, leaving nothing but her cackling laughter to taunt them. 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh at that. “She’s right, you know.”

“What? That I would have been coming if she hadn’t barged in?” That trademark grin was back. 

“Wiseass. That you have things to do. This is a big night.”

Bucky chuckled, then leaned down and gave Steve and chaste kiss. “You’re coming to the party, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Steve had in fact, never missed one of the graduation galas, but only because as a student he was required to work and mingle. This gala was different. This one was for Bucky. 

“Gonna sneak you off into a corner once you’re in that tux of yours.”

Steve planted his hand on Bucky’s chest and gave him a little push. “Turn the talk off. We’re supposed to be heading back, not getting going again.”

“All right, all right. At least give me one more kiss.”

Steve did--and he missed seeing the final dance, and only finally let Bucky go because intermission had begun and the bathroom was no longer private. But they held hands all the way back to the stage door, and parted ways with knowing smiles. Steve waited until Bucky had disappeared through the door--most definitely putting a little extra sway in his tight-covered hips as he went. 

Steve’s phone buzzed as he walked back towards his seat. 

**Saw you staring at my ass. Like what you see?**

**Kinda hard to miss in those tights.**

**Shall I keep them on? For later? ;)**

Steve laughed out loud and his mother raised an eyebrow at him as he tried to cover it, and took his seat once more. 

**Only if I get to take them off.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The results! What company will want Bucky join them??
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](katewmartin.tumblr.com) I'm there talking writing, dancing, books, and of course Stucky. ^_^


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The results were--intimidating.  
> On one hand, he was flattered. Humbled. Elated and overwhelmed. On the other hand, he was confused, disbelieving, and terrified.  
> Bucky thought he might be in some state of shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so so SO sorry it took so long for me to update this.  
> I swear I haven't abandoned it--I'm just . . . writing a novel, and then the other little ficlets, and I got engaged, and it's the end of the year at the dance studio I teach at, so recital, and . . .yeah. Just . . . busy. 
> 
> Hopefully over the summer I can be a little better about updates. ^_^  
> But thank you to everyone who's been reading, and checking in! 
> 
> Characters not mine, clearly. Marvel owns all. Etc. etc.

The results were--intimidating.

On one hand, he was flattered. Humbled. Elated and overwhelmed. On the other hand, he was confused, disbelieving, and terrified.

Bucky thought he might be in some state of shock.

It was more than most dancers dreamed of. Okay, maybe they _dreamed_ , but so few ever actually _achieved_. You hoped for a good placement, a good company to start your career with; someplace you could make a name for yourself, get good experience, and perhaps move along in a few years.

So many spent their best years in the core--doing port de bras in the background, lifting the girls in a series of simple yet pretty arrays that decorated the stage. Only a select few got the title of Soloist, or Principal.

To be offered such right off the bat was nearly unheard of.

He had a choice. A difficult choice.

One option would leave him here, close to family friends, in the city he knew and loved so well. The other--the other would take him away. Away from his sister, away from his friends, away from New York.

Away from Steve.

#

The gala had begun promptly at ten o’clock, just as the theater let out. Steve and Sam had dutifully donned their vests over their dress-shirts and made their way around the room, serving hors d’oeuvres and champagne. The audience--mostly patrons and benefactors and parents--mingled and swayed to the gentle music of the band, discussing the performance and making predictions about the featured dancers and their futures. The graduates wouldn’t be along until after eleven; until after they had heard the results of their performance--offers from different dance companies from all over the world.

Nat appeared shortly after eleven, her hair loose around her shoulders and curled, wearing a simple black dress that she made appear anything but simple. She found Steve and Sam over by the stairs leading to the upper level and balcony. They’d emptied their serving trays and were procrastinating restocking in hopes of seeing their friends the moment they arrived.

Steve was glad to see Natasha looking as happy as she was--her offer must have been good--but he was disappointed that Bucky was not with her.

Sam spoke up first. “So what’s the verdict, pretty lady? Don’t leave us hanging.”

Nat had a way of smiling that always made Steve certain that she had arranged everything to go just as planned. He had no doubt that if no company had been prepared to make an offer (which was ridiculous) Nat would have had someone convinced by the end of the night. “New York,” she said. “With the added compliment that they don’t see me staying in the core for very long.”

“That’s wonderful!” Steve set his tray aside so he could hug her, and Sam followed suit. They gushed for a while, making sure she had the moment she deserved, feeling the relief of knowing that even though she had graduated she wouldn’t be far away. Life didn’t have to change that much.

“James isn’t here yet?” Nat said, before Steve could even ask. He loved her for that--somehow she always knew; saved him from himself as he worried when the right time to ask about his best friend was. “I would have thought he’d get here before me.”

“You haven’t seen him?” Steve asked, placing a new worry in his old worry’s place. Had he missed Bucky somehow? Was he not here at all? Had he missed a text? Was something wrong?

“Not since I last saw you,” Nat said, winking at him in a completely conspicuous manner. “Sam, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“What? No way! I was sure it would take them at least until graduation to figure themselves out.” Fishing around in his pocket with one hand, Sam clapped Steve on the shoulder with his other. “Happy for you, man.” He slapped a twenty into Natasha’s waiting palm.

“Thanks,” Steve said absently, having grabbed his phone. No missed texts.

“It’s about damn time, honestly. Hey,” Sam gave Steve a little shake, “you listening to me? What’s up?”

“Sorry. Nothing. I just--Wondering where Bucky is, that’s all.”

“He’ll have to show up eventually,” Natasha pointed out. Towards the end of the night, the director of their academy always introduced each of the graduates. A final bow, so to speak.

“True.” Even so, Steve sent off a quick text. **Hey. Everyone is looking for you.** **J You’re missing all the fun.**

“I’m starving,” Natasha said, flicking at Sam’s empty tray. “Aren’t you two supposed to be feeding me?”

Sam dramatically twisted his face in thought. “Eh, I’m not sure that’s quite how it goes.”

“You’re supposed to have food.”

“Always so hungry.”

“Of course.” She turned about, graceful as always, looking over the room for something to satisfy her hunger.

Steve’s phone vibrated lightly in his hand. It was Bucky.

**Can you meet me outside?**

**Supposed to be working. And you’re supposed to be soaking up all the glory.**

**Just . . . Can you? Please.**

It was the ‘please’ that indicated something was up. If Bucky had been looking for another clandestine make-out session, he would have been far more teasing, perhaps even a little crass.

“That Bucky?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. He needs me to meet him outside.”

That got Nat’s attention, stalling her search for food. “Everything okay?”

“Don’t know. He just asked if I could meet him outside--”

“Go,” Sam said, grabbing both his and Steve’s trays. “We’ll cover for you.”

“Sam will cover for you,” Natasha said. “Serving, that is. I’ll run interference while I find someone who will actually serve me food.”

“You’re the best.” Steve kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks a lot.”

“I don’t get a kiss?” Sam teased, calling after him as Steve headed towards the door. Steve only laughed, throwing up a wave as both a goodbye and a sorry.

As he walked, he texted Bucky back. **On my way. Where are you?**

It took all of three seconds for the reply to come through.

**Front sidewalk. Under the marquee.**

So that’s where Steve went.

 

It had started raining. A drizzle, really, nothing devastating. But Bucky had stood close enough to the edge of the marquee that his good suit had gotten damp, and his hair sparkled with the rain drops it had caught. He’d leaned up against the wall of the building, streetlights casting shadows around him, illuminating his face. Steve thought he looked like a dream, but he could also see the tension in his friend’s shoulders, and the distant look in his grey eyes.

“Buck?”

Drawing a deep breath, Bucky seemed to come to life. He turned his head, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a mockery of his normal, carefree smiles. “Hey, Steve.”

“You okay?” Steve placed himself at Bucky’s side, bracing one shoulder against the spring-warmed brick. “Thought you’d be in a better mood, all things considered. You did great tonight, and--” Steve cut himself off, a thought passing through his head that was absolutely unthinkable. He’d expected Bucky to be beside himself with joy, excited by the prospect of the future, of the company he would be dancing with. But--what if no one had made an offer?

Impossible. It had to be impossible. Not with the way Bucky danced. Everyone had seen it. He was brilliant. A genius. Any company would be lucky to have him, and--

“Buck, what happened? You must have gotten an offer, there’s no way you didn’t.”

“Yeah, I got offers.”

“Offers? More than one.”

“Yeah.” Bucky was staring at his shoes, toeing at a loose bit of gravel that had wandered up onto the sidewalk.

“That’s great!”

“Yup.”

“So then what’s the problem? Something else? You’re kinda scaring me here.”

“Nothing else happened. I just . . .” Bucky did that thing with his chin, working his jaw like he was going to say one thing, then settled on something else. “I got New York. Core.”

Steve still didn’t see the problem. “That’s amazing. Nat got New York, too.” He wanted to reach out and take Bucky’s hand, to touch him in some way that might make the floodgates open, and the truth coming pouring out, but those hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched, making him as small and unreachable as possible.

“Bolshoi made an offer, too,” Bucky said, crinkling his nose when the wind picked up and blew the light rain into both their faces. “Soloist.”

Steve was speechless. Soloist. Right out of graduation! That was amazing, unheard of! He felt the proud smiling stretching his face. “Soloist. God, Buck. That’s incredible! I knew your talent wouldn’t go unnoticed. That’s so--really, really proud of you.”

Bucky lifted his head to look at him then, and his expression was one of someone who had just been gutted, not someone who’s talent had been acknowledged by one of the leading and most respected ballet companies in the world. “Bolshoi, Steve.”

“I know, Buck.”

“Moscow.”

“Yeah.”

“Russia.”

“Yeah . . .”

“Half way across the world, Steve!”

Oh. Oh. There was the problem. Steve let that sink in. Admittedly, that hadn’t occurred to him immediately. He’d just been so damn pleased to hear all the good stuff that his mind hadn’t yet taken the time to add everything up.

But Bucky had done the math.

And the results were potentially devastating.

But they didn’t have to be.

“You’re worried about being so far away.”

“Well, obviously!” Bucky’s hands pulled free of his pockets, raking through his hair instead, mussing the perfection the gel had held. “It’s just about as far away as a person can be! And Becca is still young, and I’m gonna have to scare all the boys off when they start comin’ round. And you and me--it was just last night that we--and I leave?”

Steve took Bucky’s left hand in his, dislodging it from the nape of his neck where he was pulling too hard on his hair. “You don’t have to make a decision right this second, Buck. You have a few days.”

Bucky scoffed. “Days.”

Steve stroked the backs of his knuckles, feeling the slight raise of skin where Bucky had a scar from a bike fall as a kid, but watching his face. “Whatever you decide, it won’t change anything for me.”

“Steve--”

“It won’t. We made it this long--being idiots, apparently, I’ll admit that--but we survived. We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Bucky stared at him a long moment. He looked lost, and scared, and frantic--and then he was kissing Steve. Grabbing his face in his hands and pulling him close with a desperate urgency. Steve parted his lips for him, letting Bucky in, letting him take what he needed. It surprised him, how natural this felt. How it seemed this was something they had always done, even while the thrill of it only gained strength. He let Bucky lead, let him have control, and wrapped his own arms around Bucky’s waist, holding him tight, keeping him close.

When they broke apart they were both breathing heavily. Steve felt that familiar old pull at his chest, but refused to let it stir to something more. He breathed carefully, calculatedly, counting and forcing himself to relax. The last thing Bucky needed right now was for Steve to start wheezing.

Bucky kept their foreheads pressed together, his hands hot and still cupping Steve’s face. His eyes were closed, and Steve couldn’t see that stormy grey that would have matched the weather, but the line of his mouth was enough to tell Steve that his best friend’s thoughts were still in turmoil.

“You don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “Come inside. See Nat, Sam, your family. You were amazing tonight and you deserve a little praise.”

Bucky huffed a short laugh. “Just a little?”

“Yes. See? Your ego is showing. I don’t know how much it could take without becoming intolerable,” Steve teased, glad his tactic seemed to be working. A melancholy Bucky was never a good thing.

“Nonsense.”

“Come on.” Steve kissed him once more. Kissing Bucky was like a drug he craved now. How would he ever get by if Bucky did go all the way to-- No. Best not to think about that now. “Come inside. We’ll have a good time, get some much needed food in you, and then maybe I can repay a few of those favors from last night.”

That got Bucky’s attention. He pulled back so he could see Steve’s face, eyebrows nearly touching his hairline. “Is that so?”

Steve nodded. There were a few things he wanted to try. Things he hadn’t been able to get out of his head all day . . . “Sam’s going home again.” So his room would be theirs again.

“You gonna tell me what you have in mind?”

“No.” But he pulled Bucky back down, kissing him again. This time he led the way, brushing tongue and teeth over Bucky’s lips, into his mouth, trying to breathe him in. He stopped only when he felt evidence of getting ahead of himself--and the same evidence in Bucky, pressing against his hip.

Bucky groaned when Steve pulled away. “Not fair.”

“More where that came from. But you have to get through the gala first.”

Taking a deep breath, and shifting the fit of his pants, Bucky then reached out and grabbed Steve’s hand. “Gonna be the longest damned gala ever,” he muttered as he pulled Steve along, heading inside, out of the rain.

#

They didn’t talk about it anymore that night.

Bucky had plastered his usual grin across his face, gone into the gala, and shmoozed his teachers, and choreographers, the benefactors and representatives of other companies. He danced with Nat, putting on an impromptu show for everyone there. They moved deftly across the floor, unhindered by the formalwear that was so different from their usual tights. People clapped, and Becca teased, and his mother tried not to tear up too much. Mrs. Rogers passed her tissues when needed. Steve and Sam both had to work, but Steve was at Bucky’s side as often as possible. They even managed to sneak in a dance of their own, hidden amongst the crowd and feeling like they were the only two people in the room.

Eventually, Bucky’s smile became less of a mask and more and more real. He’d hugged his family, confirming plans to help him move out of the dorms and back home in two days time. Becca, never one to let too much show, had needled him most of the night, expressing her feigned disappointment with his performance, and her hope that he would be able to make a living dancing in the park for donations. But her hugs belied her true feelings. Bucky felt it in the way she clung just a little too long, and how she had taken his hand, squeezing tightly, more times than he could remember her doing since she was really little.

“So,” she’d said, hugging him goodbye at the end of the night, “how far across the world do I get to ship you?”

It was too close to the truth. Bucky’s smile had almost broken--he’d avoided telling anyone about his offers all night, just that he had some, and wanted time to think before he ran the options by anyone else. He’d cuffed his sister lightly across the shoulder. “No worries, Beccs. I’m moving back home in two days, into your room even. I thought it would be nicer if we shared. Bunk beds! You always thought those were cool. We can spend every waking minute together that way. I’ll even braid your hair before bed.”

She’d shoved him, but laughed.

Bucky felt something heavy close around his heart.

At the end of the night Bucky and Steve headed back to the dorms, kicking the door shut, and all but falling into bed. Hands were everywhere, mouths and tongues and teeth exploring and marking territory. Steve, despite there being nothing to actually repay, made good on his promise from earlier, eliciting shocked gasps and nearly silent cries from the normally verbose James Buchannan Barnes.

When they were spent, they curled together like two pieces of a puzzle, and breathed together until drowsiness began to set in.

Steve slept. Bucky didn’t.

Bucky spent the night watching Steve, tracing the lines of his face, the freckles along his collarbones and shoulders. He listened to the familiar cadence of Steve’s lungs--not always as clear and smooth as it should be, but so a part of _Steve_ that Bucky found it comforting regardless.

He thought about New York. He thought about the Bolshoi.

He made lists in his head. Pros and Cons. Reasons why and Reasons why not. In the end, it seemed to come down to two things: Stay with his family and friends, or go halfway across the world and carve out a small place in history.

Bucky was just ambitious enough that it had its appeal. He could admit that.

The next morning he waited for Steve to wake up, kissed him breathless before once again using his body to make his best friend forget his own name, then dragged himself from bed for breakfast and a quick trip home.

Steve must have noticed that something was up. That Bucky’s mind was distracted and pulled in a million and one directions, but he never said anything. He knew. Bucky knew he knew. Steve knew him well enough that he let Bucky sort his thoughts out on his own first. They would talk later.

Becca had piano lessons Saturday mornings, and so when Bucky slipped in through the front door of his family’s apartment, he was relieved to find his mother alone at the kitchen table.

She smiled as if she had expected him. Of course she’d expected him. “Made you some tea,” she said, gesturing to the mug already on the table across from her. “And there are croissants in the oven keeping warm.”

Bucky grabbed three before sitting down.

“I know I told you before,” his mother said as he sat, “but you were so amazing last night. Really, really brilliant.” She reached across the table, taking his hand for a brief moment before letting him eat.

“Thanks,” Bucky said through a mouthful. “It felt good.”

“But it doesn’t feel so good now? Oh, come on, don’t look at me that way. I’ve been your mother for over ten years now. I know when something is bothering you. What is it?”

He didn’t know how to start. Dammit. He’d practiced this all night long, and on the subway ride over. “It’s just--I mean--It’s the offers.”

“More than one is a big deal.”

“A really big deal.” He pulled his second croissant apart, but didn’t eat it.

“But it also means making a choice.”

“A really difficult choice.” He stared into his tea, wondering about those people who read tea leaves. Would they be able to give him any insight? Bucky was pretty willing to take anything he could get at this point.

His mother, bless her, simply wrapped her hands around her mug and took a sip of that dark roast coffee she liked so much. “So tell me.”

“New York. Core. I’d get to stay here. With you, with Becca, and my friends.”

“And the other option?” she prompted when his voice got stuck in his throat and the rest of the words didn’t want to seem to come out.

“Bolshoi.” He said it quickly, feeling his heart race with the word. “Soloist.”

His mother’s mug clattered against the table. “Soloist?” she said, once she’d regained the ability.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, feeling shyer about it than he normally did with anything, but also--proud. Accomplished. A tiny smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“James, that’s . . . that’s incredible, sweetheart!”

“Thanks.” There was a knot in his stomach that didn’t seem to be leaving any more room for his food or tea. It felt different, saying it out loud. To someone other than Steve, to his mother. It made it--real. This was something he actually had to decide. New York, or Moscow. His future, his career, his life--He’d known the showcase would lead him down the next path, but he’d never imagined a fork in the road like this. How was anyone supposed to make this kind of decision?

He heard his mother’s chair scrape against the tile floor, felt her hand settle on his arm as she sat closer to him. “You know you don’t have to make the decision this moment,” she said.

“Gotta make it by the end of next week. Just feels like . . . like taking that long to think about it will be torture.”

“It’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“I know.”

“Why don’t you make a list? Pros and Cons, write out all your thoughts about each, see how you feel about things once it’s all on paper?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair, then pressed the heel of that same hand into his eye. “Didn’t sleep last night. Ran through everything in my head already.”

“And?”

“And, I don’t--I mean . . . Russia is really far away. Becca is still little, and with Dad gone . . .”

Her hand on his arm tightened a bit. “Don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself. This is your life, your decision. You are not responsible for staying home and looking after us.”

“I know, I know, but . . .Being so far away, it’s--”

“You have never been afraid of leaving home. You practically packed your bags five years ago when you found that ballet intensive in California, and that was before you even asked if you could go. You were gone the entire summer, and you went every year until last year.”

“This is a little different than summer camp.”

“Not really. It doesn’t have to be permanent. Maybe when your contract is up you come back to New York, with experience and solos on your resume that young dancers only dream of. Maybe you go and you fall in love with Russia and decide to make your life there. You can’t know any of that right now.”

“So you think I should go?” Bucky looked at her, at the face that had soothed his nightmares as a child, kissed his bruises and cuts, scolded him when he was being an idiot. “You want me to go to Russia?” It was stupid, he knew, but he couldn’t help feeling like she was chasing him away.

“I think you shouldn’t discount something because of an irrational fear,” she said, reaching up and brushing his hair out of his face. “I think you have two wonderful opportunities in front of you, and no matter which you choose you have a fabulous career ahead of you, but you need to make the choice you want, not what others tell you.”

Bucky ducked his head, pushing his croissants around on his plate again. “I don’t know how I feel about being so far away.”

“Does this have to do with Steve?”

“What?” His head snapped up so fast he felt something pinch in his neck. He winced and rubbed it away.

“Steve. That little blond who’s been your shadow for as long as I can remember? The one you go everywhere with. Including that summer intensive.” She was smiling now, smiling like she knew something he didn’t, or something he should have known.

“I don’t know what you--”

“Oh please, James. I saw you two last night at the gala. Sneaking off here and there, getting in a quick dance together when you thought no one was looking. It’s sweet. And about damn time.”

“What?” He let his arms thump down to the table. “Did everyone know except us?”

His mother continued to smile, warm and knowing. “I believe so, sweetheart.”

“Jesus.” He leaned back, head tipped over the back of the chair, staring at the ceiling. “So much wasted time.”

“Watch your mouth. But no, I don’t think it was wasted at all. There’s never anything wrong with friendship.”

“Still.”

“So you don’t want to leave Steve. What does he have to say about it?”

“That it won’t change anything. But we haven’t really talked much about it. Not since I told him last night.”

“Do you believe him? That it won’t change anything?”

“How could it not? We just figured this out, and now I leave? I’d be as far away as humanly possible!”

“What if the offer was Steve’s? What would you want him to do?”

“I’m more selfish than Steve. I’d want him to stay.”

“Would you really?”

Bucky drew his head upright once more, the movement heavy and strained. “No,” he said with a sigh, not really needing to think about it. “I’d want him to do what was best for him. What he wanted.”

“You realize you haven’t talked about New York once this whole time,” his mother said, watching him. “It seems like you know exactly which choice you want to make.”

He did. He really did. But it still hurt, and just because you made a choice, wanted something, didn’t make it the right thing, the right choice. His ego be dammed, he wanted his place as a soloist. He wanted the experience, he wanted to travel, see the world.

But he also wanted Steve. Steve with him, at his side, in an apartment he could come home to at the end of the day.

“What if I’m wrong?” His voice came out a whisper, a sound a child might make in the dark.

“Then you come home.” Simple. Easy. No judgment. “You come home, and you get another job.” She brushed his hair back once more, playing with it as she had when he was young. “No one would begrudge you the chance to do this. And yes, Russia is far, but if it’s what you want, then we will make it work. After all, it’s not as if we’ll all forget you just because of a little distance.” Fingers under his chin, she turned his head so she could see his face. “You’re far too charming and good looking for that.” She winked.

“And people wonder where my ego comes from.”

“Oh, no, darling. No one wonders.” She pulled him close, kissing his forehead, then stood to take her mug to the sink.

Bucky picked at his food, eating the rest of the croissants as he let their conversation sink in.

She was right, he knew what he wanted.

He just had to be brave enough to take it.

But Steve had always been the brave one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear . . . Well, yes. So, here's where things get complicated and much more plotty. ^____^  
> I'm not sorry. 
> 
> It's ballet. It's Bucky. I couldn't possible not involve Russia somehow. Right?
> 
> Come say hi! I'm on Tumblr as [katewmartin](www.katewmartin.tumblr.com)!

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr!](http://katewmartin.tumblr.com/) I'd love to hear from you. ^_^  
> (I should note that on tumblr you'll find me under katewmartin, not Minako1x2)
> 
> Here's a tumblr post with some [ballet visuals](http://katewmartin.tumblr.com/post/111376106876/well-since-i-currently-cant-figure-out-how-to). (Still trying to figure out how to just post them here....)


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